


Several Shades of Cheesy Tropes

by unorthodoxCreativity



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rare Pairings, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorthodoxCreativity/pseuds/unorthodoxCreativity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These were all written for a cheesy romance trope ask box fic prompt list. Some are cheesier than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Syrup - Elricest

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Coffee Shop AU

They’re not even on break. They’re  _supposed_ to be grabbing another vanilla syrup jug out of the storage room, which should only take  _one_ person, but when Ed offered to get it, he made eye contact. Golden brown eyes flashing at Al with a challenge. Some sort of beckoning bedroom finger with just his irises. 

Al’s always been pretty defenseless against those eyes.

He’s also always been defenseless against Ed’s clever tongue, which is swiping a wet line up the bottom of Al’s cock at the moment. Al’s fingers tangle in his long silky hair, guiding his head closer.

_Take me in deep,_  he wants to whisper.  _Stop right now, someone’s going to catch us,_ he wants to say. It shouldn’t make this hotter. It  _shouldn’t,_ but it does, even though if anyone stuck their head in here now and saw them, they wouldn’t just get fired. They’d probably be  _arrested_ , or at least the whole freaking  _county_ would know. He doesn’t want to risk his scholarship for this. He definitely doesn’t want to be known as the country bumpkin that fucks his own brother.

The fact he  _is_ from the country and very much  _does_ have sex with his brother notwithstanding. _  
_

Ed swallows on him, hums a desperate noise as his lips make contact with the curls at the base of Al’s cock. Al shoves a few knuckles between his teeth to keep from making sound. He’s going to come too fast at this rate.

Thank God for small miracles.

Ed has him gasping in short order, knees trembling, vision blurring at the edges. He bites down on his fingers. Tastes blood. Ed continues sucking and swallowing through the shudders of his orgasm until Al’s begging for him to stop.

Ed does, pulling off and swiping the back of his hand over his mouth to pick up any extra saliva. He puts his hair back up in a messy bun with the frayed hairband on his wrist and stands. He gives Al a quick kiss and then goes back out, humming, the syrup jug propped on one hip.

Al tucks himself back in and makes sure he’s in a presentable state before following.

“ _Took_ you long enough,” their manager growls.

"Yeah, yeah," Ed sasses back. Somehow, he always gets away with it.

"What’s that on your apron?"

Ed glances down. Al is going to die: a small drip of his cum is right there, soaking into the thick green cotton.

"Oh, I tested the syrup to make sure it was right, must’ve gotten some on me." He reaches out a finger, swipes up the cum, and pops it in his mouth.

Al is going to  _die._

Their manager just snorts and thumbs at the front counter. As they take up their stations again, Ed leans in to whisper in Al’s ear.

"Next time, I want you to fuck me."


	2. All Dead On The Western Front - Hei/Ed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30\. Zombie AU

It’s somewhere past Cheyenne when Alfons started coughing. It’s wet and necrotic and absolutely terrifying.

The mountains are just scraping the horizon. Another few days and they’ll be  _there_ , somewhere they can actually protect themselves. Somewhere having a few fake limbs won’t be a death sentence.

"Just a cold," he says cheerfully. Alphonse believes him, bless his tiny young optimistic heart. 

Ed knows better. They all got splattered with zombie brain two days ago at the pharmacy in Laramie. Fons got the worst of it, holding the gnashing teeth at arms length with locked elbows until Al could level his shotgun and shoot off the thing’s head. They all practically drowned themselves in antiseptic and scrubbed until their skin was raw, but Fons probably got some in his eyes, or his mouth, or his nose. Ed’s a scientist, he knows how quickly mucus membranes will culture bacteria. And whatever’s making the zombies is fast on its own, like some kind of mutated, unkillable cancer cell.

He waits until nightfall to talk to Fons about it, when Al’s hunkered down in the brush and snoring softly. To their backs is a small butte so they’ll have some level of shelter and protection in case the dead decide to creep around at night. 

This far in the middle of nowhere, there’s no light pollution. The highways are completely bare, and there’s nothing but brush grass and the occasional rock formation for miles. It feels like they’ve already died, maybe. Ed would call it hell, but the vast network of stars blanket the sky like glittering sequins on a deep navy satin dress, and it’s too beautiful and awe-inspiring. Purgatory, maybe, just close enough to Heaven to brush sun-burned fingertips against it.

"You’re dying," Ed whispers in the dark. Fons sits next to him, breathing slow and labored. 

"Yeah," he agrees. Resigned.

"I don’t know if I can put you down." He won’t cry, dammit. Ed clenches his hand into a fist and wishes he could do the same with his prosthetic.

Alfons sucks in a ragged, painful breath and turns to look at him. “I don’t want Al to know.”

"What the fuck are we supposed to do, then?" Ed wants to scream his throat bloody, but they can’t wake his little brother. "I can’t kill you. You can’t turn while you’re with us, or we’ll have to kill you. You don’t want Al to know. So what? What’s your plan?"

"Disappear," he says. Ed can see the tears welling in Alfons’s eyes, reflecting the sanctuary of a Heaven he’ll never get to see. "I’ll just head out into the plains, and maybe I’ll be lucky enough to die of starvation before I turn."

“ _No,”_ Ed snarls, grabbing Fons by the shoulder. “I won’t let you do that.”

Instead of answering him, Alfons leans into Ed’s anger and kisses him, slow and sweet. “I love you,” he murmurs when he’s pulled back and Ed is speechless. “I was afraid to tell you before, but now I’m afraid not to.”

"Alfons…" Ed’s voice cracks.

"Go to the mountains with Al. You’ll be fine without me. You always were before I got here."

Ed nods, because he can’t say another word without vomiting. His sobs stay inside to quiver in his lungs. This time when he leans into kiss him, Ed meets Alfons head on.

They have sex under the stars. Neither of them say anything more, but their touches are fire, desperate and pleading with God for better chances.

In the morning, he’s gone.


	3. Knight - Al/Olivier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. Anonymous Love Letters

She keeps getting notes in the post. No return label, unmarked save for the stamp and her address, written in precise block print:

Miss Olivier Armstrong  
Fort Briggs Box 573  
APO AA 4405-293

For fuck’s sake. She’s almost forty, she doesn’t need this kind of crap. She’s a Major General, not some flowery Miss. She opened the first one out of curiosity, but since then has been telling Major Miles to toss them off the wall. He, of course, has been tucking them carefully amongst her provisions worksheets. 

Today’s letter is written on thick yellow stationery, with daffodils or somesuch at the corners. It’s all very juvenile, but also feels expensive, and the writing has a level of intelligence in it, both in word and hand. She’d never admit out loud that she’s intrigued, but, well.

"Dearest Olivier," the letter starts. The insides of her eyeballs itch with rage. Who is this man, that dares to be so friendly affectionate when he’s too much of a coward to sign his name?

"Today I saw a sword on an old man’s wall, and thought of you. It was old and put there for decoration, but the binding on the hilt was stained suspiciously red, so I suspect it saw battle at some point in its long life. He told me he doesn’t have children. I did him a great few favors and he was very glad for it, so I might convince him to give me the sword. If he does, I’ll send it your way.

"In travelling as far from home as I have, I often feel very homesick, but I don’t feel like I can tell my family lest they worry. You, however, probably don’t have a worried bone in your body. Your strength and fierce fighting spirit thrum in your blood. I love that. It’s part of what makes you so vibrant. I wish I had a photograph of you, so when the locals here asked me what Amestrian women are like, I could show them it.

"This is all dreadfully maudlin to you, I’m sure. It’s also likely that my mysterious identity is closer to cowardice in your eyes. I do promise, however, that when I’m due to return home, I’ll let you know who I am. it’s a little thrilling, isn’t it? Having a secret admirer? Perhaps I’m projecting, and you haven’t even read these. More than likely they’re immediately tossed in the fire.

"But if you are reading, know that there is a knight in shining armor out here in the world, waiting until he may swear fealty to the Queen.

"Love from, Your Knight"

It pisses her off, is what it does. She  _should_ chuck it right in the fireplace. The flames eating away at expensive paper would be more appealing than the bullcrap she just read.

Instead, she opens her left-hand top drawer and tucks it behind the others so they’ll stay in chronological order. She closes it again and silently fumes as she fills out a worksheet for munitions.

Whoever this knight is, he better show his sorry face soon, because she’s getting  _impatient._


	4. Cats in Space - Ling/Al

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29\. Clothes Sharing

He can’t find the shirt he wanted to wear today, and he  _knows_ it was in here. He did the laundry recently, folded everything nice and neat. The antithesis to Ed’s sloppy pile that immediately finds itself back on the floor, as if a trip to the washing machine was just a short vacation to somewhere wet, warm, and tropical.

Maybe it got mis-sorted, and it’s somewhere in Ed’s hurricane of a room.

"Have you seen my cat shirt?" he calls into the hallway.

Ed answers around a mouthful of breakfast, consonants softening on pancakes. “I’unno. Whish one? Y’ga so many.”

Al rolls his eyes, even though Ed’s not present to appreciate the well-practiced gesture. “The new one! The sunglasses cat in space?”

"Oh,  _that_ hipster bullshit,” Ed snorts. “Nah, haven’t seen it.”

Al refrains from growling, even though the irritation is bubbling in his chest. “You’re annoying.”

"Just wear one of your other five hundred cat shirts. Jesus."

He doesn’t, because that would be  _giving in_ , and Al has pride. He wears a teal button-up instead, which is just blue enough it pulls the light out of his eyes. Ed notices the lack of cat apparel on their way to school and smirks, but to his big brother honor, doesn’t say anything.

"Alphonse! Eddie!"

Ling’s voice always sends a ripple of something sweet and sinful through Al’s core. The way he says his full name, with just a thrum of something musical underneath. Ed sighs beside him but nothing could puncture this honeyed bliss he feels as he turns and seeks out his boyfriend in the crowd of people loitering before class.

There, in the grass under one of the trees, hair done up in a loose bun that caresses the nape of his neck, sunglasses propped on his head, and —  _he’s wearing the shirt._

"Found your shirt," Ed says with a snarky grin. 

Al should be a little mad, but he has to admit that the shirt looks better on Ling than it ever did on him. The deep purples and blues of the supernova bring out the sheen of his hair, and the cat  _is_ Siamese…

Ling stretches in the grass and says, “You were wearing it last weekend when I was over, and it still smelled like you so I stole it.” He pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes and flashes a grin. “Look, I match.”

"Gag," Ed says, but Al is already on the ground relaying a very good morning to his favorite kleptomaniac.


	5. Steel Sunshine - Roy/Ed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14\. Stripper AU

He’s always there on Friday nights, sitting the closest he can to the stage without being visible to most people. That spot is tucked in the corner, right by the curtains Ed — or as he’s called on stage, Steel Sunshine — will sashay through after he’s done with his routine. 

Unlike most of the men who congregate in this club, he’s quiet, sits back in his chair like he’s savoring the view as an observer, and not a participant. He always orders the same drink, some kind of whiskey on ice. His eyes are dark and he wears a suit, like he comes in just off of work at a business firm. No tie, the first two buttons undone. Just on the edge of casual, but still higher class than the men around him.

Ed’s not in the habit of backroom “special performance” but if this man asked, he would say yes. He might not even need monetary compensation. He’s taken to calling him Sir in his mind in lieu of a name. 

Stripping isn’t something Ed thought he’d be doing with himself, but, well. School doesn’t pay for itself, even with a full-ride undergraduate degree. Once you hit grad school the scholarships dry up, and there are only so many grants you can get before they say you’ve hit your limit. 

At 22 he’s still young and lithe enough, slight enough that he fits a niche his managers are grateful for. His long hair remains down and curls over his shoulders, eyes gouged out with liner and shadow until he looks like a homeless raccoon. Under his performance clothing he wears a simple lace thong that never comes off.

Sometimes he loses his prosthetic leg. Depends on the night, the energy in the crowd. It’s the most vulnerable thing he feels he can do sometimes, and the men eat it up. 

He only ever does that when Sir’s in the audience, though. Like a silent, vigilant guardian angel. Something about his eyes on Ed’s back makes him feel safe, not wary. 

Someday, someday soon, he’s going to get up the nerve to climb down off that stage like so many of his female coworkers and get Sir’s name.


	6. Marriage - Ling/Ed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12\. Arranged Marriage AU

Ling’s father, His Royal Majesty the Emperor of Xing, says it’s going to help their country. Xerxes has always been a closed-off nation, xenophobic to a degree that causes massive issues when attempting trade to the West. Marrying two eligible royal offspring between the nations should open trade, the Emperor says. 

Ling doesn’t know why it has to be  _him._

He’s fifteen, not nearly thinking about marriage yet. He’s thinking about martial arts, about food, maybe about enjoying the  _company_ of girls, but not  _marrying_ them. _  
_

The caravan is due to arrive soon, so Ling’s dressed in fine silk robes, bright yellow to designate his clan heritage. A red sash for royalty. Hair done up in a tight topknot with some beaded headdress for show. He won’t get married to her today, but he’s meant to make some sort of impression.

He’s not allowed to eat anything while he waits, which is a damn shame, because nerves always make him feel starved. He’ll meet his future wife so  _soon._ His stomach is eating itself. Lan Fan has shushed him for groaning multiple times before realizing it’s his stomach. She stands behind him, ever the vigilant guard. He’s grateful, but not really sure if he can handle her being present-yet-invisible when he has to consummate this.

A procession has started at the gates. The gong rumbles through the palace. It’s only so long until they’ll reach the throne room, and Ling will have to accept their gifts and their daughter in front of  _everyone_ , and not throw up. 

The doors open. The group comes in, looking dusty from the desert but not too worse for wear. The servants are wearing white, togas and peplums and all sorts of draped fabric that looks difficult to walk in. The royalty is wearing a deep vibrant blue, like the sky. There’s a tall man with a beard — their emperor — and a shorter person beside him, golden hair cascading down a slim back. His future wife?

He tries not to hyperventilate. Lan Fan sets a hand on his shoulder gently, just for a moment. 

The Xerxian girl opens her mouth to speak. 

"Can we get this ceremony bullcrap out of the way so we can go  _eat_ something?”

It’s not a princess, it’s a  _prince._ Ling turns his puzzled gaze toward his father, who seems just as confused as he is. Thankfully he’s not a leader of a country for nothing; he stands, ready to handle this diplomatically.

"You’ve brought a prince to marry my son?"

Their emperor remains calm-faced. “Of course. A marriage between states must always be a sacred bond that strengthens, but doesn’t dissolve boundaries. Children complicate this.”

Ling is so hungry he could  _die._ The prince rolls his eyes and they meet Ling’s, a little shy, a little stubborn. His eyes are golden, like his hair. Ling’s heart stops a moment and then thumps powerfully in his chest.

He takes a risk. “I understand the usual need for ceremony and celebration,” he starts evenly, not breaking eye contact, “but our guests have traveled far to get here. We should reconvene tomorrow, when they’re well rested.”

The prince blinks slowly, and smiles, a little thing just for him. Ling might be in love, which is good, really, considering the circumstances.

Everyone slowly filters away, and the prince steps toward him. “Hi,” he says, just a little awkward, arms crossed and hands tucked into his armpits. “I’m Edward.”

"Ling," Ling breathes, not trusting his voice. "This is all very awkward, and I’m sorry."

Edward snorts. “Just feed me, and we’re on good terms.”

Ling nods and inclines his head to follow.

On the way to the kitchen, they keep bumping arms. With no one around but the two of them (and a discrete Lan Fan), Ling reaches out hesitantly and takes Edward’s hand.


	7. Seven Minutes - Elricest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16\. Seven Minutes in Heaven

Everyone told Ed to redraw when he pulled Al’s name from the hat, but all he did was shrug his broadening shoulders and say, “Nah, Al’n’ I have some shit we could talk about in private for seven minutes without you dweebs interrupting.”

Al’s not really sure how he got himself into this mess. That’s a bit of a lie — it’s Winry’s fifteenth birthday party, and he has an obligation as a brother figure to be here — but who  _actually_ plays seven minutes in heaven anymore? 

He should probably be relieved that he’s stuck with Ed, and not expected to kiss some strange girl. They’ll just talk about whatever it is that Ed wants to talk about, and then be done with it. 

So why is he so damn  _nervous?_  

The closet floor was cleaned of shoes and other girly detritus before the game started, but some of Winry’s longer dresses still tickle the top of his head as he sits to one side. Ed settles to the opposite, automail leg stretched straight out. It just grazes Al’s thigh. 

Someone closes the door and the world is a dark void. For a few seconds, all he knows is the slight slight brush of metal toes, until the light seeping in from the crack at the bottom of the door reaches his eyes. 

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Al murmurs, distinctly aware of the possibility of eavesdroppers.

Ed pulls his leg back and settles onto his knees. Al mourns the loss of contact until Ed crawls toward him, eyes shining golden-bronze in the dim light. Every muscle in Al’s body freezes, holds very very still like maybe he can camouflage himself in the darkness, a startled rabbit that knows they’re about to become a fox’s dinner.

"Ed?" he manages to squeak before slightly chapped lips cover his.

The point of contact is an inferno, engulfing Al so that every tense muscle is suddenly buzzing with energy and the need to  _move._ His hands shoot out and grab Ed’s shirt, twisting in the black fabric tightly. A funny startled sound punches out of Ed’s throat.

Al drags him in, stretching out his legs so there’s somewhere for Ed to sit. A perch that coaxes him closer, until they’re chest to chest and ass tight to groin. 

Everything is  _ablaze_ as they share biting kisses, barely daring to  _breathe_ lest they waste any of their time. Hands flutter around Al’s face and neck, like Ed can’t decide where he wants to put them. Al places his on the small of Ed’s back, just under his shirt. Sweat tickles his fingertips and he presses down, shuddering at the slide of flesh on flesh.

Ed groans _._ He bites his brother’s lip and Ed rocks forward in his lap. Scraping nails down his spine, Al wonders how long they have left, whether he has time to really make Ed fall apart. He wiggles his fingertips into the top of Ed’s pants and Ed  _whimpers,_ pressing so close Al can feel the slight mismatch of their heartbeats.

The door opens, just a foot. The light spills over Al and everything screeches to a halt again. Winry’s startled face looks back at him, eyes flicking from him to Ed and back again. Ed’s panting against his neck, a gloriously small sound that Al wants to bottle and save. 

He licks his lips, swallows. Winry doesn’t often understand them, but he pleads with her to now, eyes darting between hers desperately. 

She shrinks back from the door and closes it. Outside, she puts on a mask of cheer and tells the others, “They’re not done with their conversation. We’ll play a board game until they’re done using my closet for their dumb boy stuff.”

"Shit," Ed finally whispers, pressing his forehead against Al’s.

"Yeah," Al agrees, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning in and kissing his brother again, party be damned.


End file.
